


homecoming

by badappple



Series: ShuAke Week 2020 Fics [7]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Abstract, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dissociation, Experimental, Grief/Mourning, Insomnia, M/M, Nightmares, Persona 5 Protagonist is from Inaba, Post-Canon, Red String of Fate, Self-Destruction, sad akiren food for the soul, the whole thing is pretty ambiguous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27680062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badappple/pseuds/badappple
Summary: His hands are stained with red. At first, he thinks it might be blood- his own or someone else’s, he’s not sure-, but as his vision clears up and thoughts grow sharper, he realizes what it is.Thread, wrapped around his wrist and hands, connected to something that he cannot see.Bright red.[A thread around his wrist, a Crow watching him from the shadows.]
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: ShuAke Week 2020 Fics [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016671
Comments: 2
Kudos: 73





	homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ShuAke Week 2020, Day Seven: Soulmates, Nightmares and Free Day

Akira is back in Eden. Back in the shining utopia of Maruki’s Palace that he hated so much. 

It’s silent. There doesn’t seem to be another soul around, not even a single shadow to be found in a Palace. Which shouldn’t really happen, but for some reason, Akira thinks nothing of it.

He’s not in his Metaverse clothes. He’s not Joker, even though he wants to be. 

His hands are stained with red. At first, he thinks it might be blood- his own or someone else’s, he’s not sure-, but as his vision clears up and thoughts grow sharper, he realizes what it is. 

Thread, wrapped around his wrist and hands, connected to something that he cannot see. 

Bright red. 

His head hurts, it's pounding and he can't stand it. This all feels too vivid to be a mere dream. He can barely move anymore, and he dimly wonders if it’s possible to have sleep paralysis inside of a dream. 

The world begins to slip away from him, the word  _ crow _ dancing on his lips before he wakes up. 

* * *

Akira is freezing cold when he wakes up, almost to the point of shivering. Morgana is asleep at his feet. 

He does not wake up in Leblanc, despite how much he wishes he could have. His room back home- if home is the right word for it- is even more drab than the attic he used to stay in. His parents didn’t even bother to keep it clean. Inaba is a lifeless place compared to the thrill and vigor of Tokyo. 

With shaking hands, Akira checks his phone. 

The Metaverse Navigator is still gone. Joker is dead and buried, as he should be. It was just a dream. 

The thread is still wrapped around his wrist. 

Akira thinks he sees a crow fly past his window. 

* * *

School is as monotonous as ever. He walks to school under the cloudy sky, walks into the building of Yasogami High School and blocks out the whispers of everyone around him. 

He hasn’t brought Morgana to school yet. He doesn’t even think that he can anymore, as his parents won’t let him even so much as leave the house with Morgana, and the school has kept him under such a tight watch that the idea of bringing a cat to school is out of the question. 

It feels more like a prison than Shujin ever did. 

The people he used to consider friends go out of his way to avoid him. The people he considered acquaintances look at him like they want him dead. 

Nobody ever does anything, though. Nobody has ever cornered Akira after class and beat the shit out of him and left him there. Akira almost wants it to happen, because at least it’s  _ something _ more than the meandering monotony that seems to define his life now. 

He longs for the adrenaline, the danger. 

It's the days like these where he wishes looks could kill.

* * *

When he falls asleep again, he has another dream. Perhaps nightmare is a better word for it, but he doesn’t care much for semantics anymore. 

He’s in Maruki’s Palace again. The thread is there again, too- wrapped tightly around his wrist, and Akira can feel it cutting off the blood flow. How wonderful. Maybe his hand will fall off in reality if it does here. 

He remembers this place. He fought Maruki here, with only his fists and saved the man from death. 

This is the last place he saw Crow. Joker saw him place a hand on Violet’s shoulder and that was it. He left the Metaverse and returned to reality in a cold cell, dizzied and disoriented and filled with denial that he still hasn’t faced. 

Akira walks closer to the edge of the utopian Palace, the same edge Maruki leapt from, the same edge Joker held onto the madman from. 

But this time, Joker is not there to catch him. Joker is not there to catch anyone anymore.

The thread around his wrist is pulled taut. 

Akira hits the ground before he wakes up. 

* * *

His heart is racing as he sits up with a jolt. A toxic cocktail of fear and adrenaline and pain all shoot through his veins like the most potent drug he could ever imagine. 

This is it. This is what he needed all along. 

Morgana looks at him with concern. “Akira… you okay?” 

Akira smiles wider than he has in months. 

“Yeah. I’ve never been better.”

The thread wraps tighter. 

* * *

Sleep is all he looks forward to now.

School has stopped mattering. Being a third-year is somehow the most boring time he’s ever had in his life. His grades slip, and the threat of being held back a year looms over his head. He dares them to try. The threat is what keeps him slacking off.  Akira’s behavior doesn’t even concern his parents. As long as he keeps to himself and acts obedient and grateful around them, they don’t give a shit about their own son. Akira doesn’t care. 

They’d never understand what he’s really like, anyways. 

As if he himself understands what he’s really like anymore. 

* * *

While he walks to school, he bumps into another student. 

Akira doesn’t remember what his name was. He knows he wouldn’t have cared if he did. 

“Watch it, shithead,” the student glowers. He certainly seems strong enough. Perfect.

Akira hits him as hard as he can. He smiles, waiting. “Hit me.” 

Akira doesn’t fight back as he gets shoved to the ground. Akira doesn’t fight back as the student kicks him in the ribs, bruises his skin, gets his friends to join in too. 

Akira doesn’t fight back as a thin line crimson spills from his mouth, doesn’t fight back as a blow to his face sends him halfway to unconsciousness, doesn’t fight back as a blow to the head makes him bleed even more and makes him feel dizzier than he ever has in his life.

Instead, he keeps smiling until the world goes dark. 

* * *

No matter how many times his dreams spit him out into the Metaverse, he is never Joker. He is never dressed in the trappings of a thief, never wearing those blood-red gloves.

The thread is still there, like it always is. He feels someone’s eyes, deep and maroon, staring him down from the shadows. 

* * *

When he comes to, he’s in the school’s infirmary. He wonders why. He doesn’t remember coming here. 

The school nurse is talking to him, saying something about a broken nose and a concussion. He's not really listening.

He goes to touch his nose, only to find it bandaged. The hair on the back of his neck is slightly matted from dried blood. 

Another student found him and took him here, she told him. He’s a bit upset that they didn’t just let him stay there and take it. He was asking for it, after all. He wanted this. 

Even so, his heart is still racing and he feels so,  _ so _ alive. 

Wistfully, he thinks that this must be the best day of his life since he came back home. 

* * *

Returning home with a broken nose and a concussion was about as pleasant as one would expect. His parents ask him what happened. 

“I got beat up” was a serviceable response. They shrug, tell him to clean up his wounds and not bother them, and they say nothing more. They don’t give a shit- what a surprise. He goes to his room, all smiles and nerves abuzz.

“The heck happened to you—?!” Morgana yowled, once he saw the state Akira was in. 

Akira only grins. “You should see the other guy,” he says with confidence, before passing out on his bed.

* * *

The bright red thread was a lot more tangled this time. Wrapped around each of his limbs, constricting and painful as the thread digs into his skin. 

He feels the thread loosely wrap around his throat, the threat of being strangled looming over his head with each movement he makes. 

Akira isn’t sure why he struggles. Survival instinct, perhaps, or maybe he’s just scared. He doesn’t know. Nothing makes sense, and it hasn’t for a while. 

He’s not even sure where this dream is. He supposes that it doesn't really matter, and he continues to weakly struggle against the red thread.

Someone is trying to talk to him. He can’t tell who it is, their words are muddled and Akira’s brain feels fuzzy and he can’t breathe anymore and the person’s voice is growing louder,  _ louder _ but nothing makes sense anymore and he's

* * *

Akira wakes up screaming, or at least he thinks he does. His heart pounds against his ribcage. 

Morgana wakes up at the foot of his bed and looks at him like he’s gone insane. “Akira…” he speaks with gentle concern and it makes Akira want to scream again just hearing it. 

But Akira can’t speak, can’t  _ move _ , can only stare ahead of him and wait for his heart to stop hammering against his chest. The adrenaline flooding his system is mind-numbing. He thinks he may be trembling, too, but he can’t be sure about that. Morgana must think he's losing his mind, and Akira can't even blame him for thinking that. At this point, he probably is.

After an impossibly long time, Akira swallows harshly. “I’m fine.” His voice shakes more than he wants it to. “Just a nightmare.” 

Morgana looks less than convinced, but he doesn’t push it and Akira couldn’t be any more grateful for that. “...Okay. Try and go back to sleep, then. Midterms are coming up. You should study tomorrow.”

Akira nods like he’s actually going to listen. He doesn’t fall asleep again for the rest of the night. 

* * *

For the first time in what feels like lifetimes, he’s thankful when morning finally comes. He figures that he might as well skip school at this point- does it really matter anymore?  Akira has no future no matter how good his grades are or how much of a model student he behaves like. He’s a criminal with three arrests under his belt before he even became an adult. 

‘The charges were cleared.' Niijima Sae had told him that weeks or months or years ago, and acted as if that changed anything.  It doesn’t. Nobody trusts a criminal, cleared charges or otherwise. Getting a job will be damn-near impossible, and he’s long since given up any chances to go to a good school once he graduates. What lovely fate he’s been met with. 

Akira sighs, placing his head in his hands for a moment. Thinking about all of that only serves to make everything worse, so he doesn’t. He takes out his phone and mindlessly scrolls through his texts. The Phantom Thieves group chat has been inactive for almost two months. Not a word from any of them, even the formerly talkative Ryuji and Futaba.

Scrolling through his texts proved to only make him feel worse, so he stopped before he could feel any shittier. 

Opening his browser, he searches up four measly words. 

_ red thread of fate _

He knows what it usually means in the traditional sense- having your fate ‘tied’ to someone else’s, that kind of thing. 

But his eyes narrow as he spots another meaning, one that he was aware of but wished he wasn’t. A small sentence that means so much. 

_ The Red Thread is also a telltale mark of soulmates. _

Akira feels sick. 

He’s heard of soulmates, yes. He can’t remember who told him about it all for the life of him, but he knows. He knows that everyone is born with a soulmate, but he also knows that almost nobody has theirs. While you can sense your soulmate, most people simply don’t bother. 

Soulmates are rare in this world, you need to chase and unspool the thread bleeding from your wrist and find the person waiting at the other end. You can only see the red thread when you’re very young or the closer you get to finding them, so most people resign away to finding someone nice who treats them well enough and they usually end up severing the thread permanently. 

Akira knows he found his soulmate back in Tokyo. He saw the bleeding red thread every time he looked down. Only now that he’s back in Inaba, has the thread faded from his waking view. 

(But he knows he’ll stay connected to whoever his soulmate is. That’s the worst part.) 

He reads something about soulmates sharing dreams and reads something about cognition changing those dreams and he tosses his phone across the room and hopes it breaks.  Akira knew he was never going to find who it was. He’s resigned, despite his strumming nerves. He goes back to sleep before he can learn anything else, and prays that it’s dreamless. 

* * *

Praying, Akira now realizes, is absolutely useless. 

Another dream. And he knows where he is. The scent of blood taints the air, and he can taste the sharp tang of iron on his tongue.  He feels like he's rotting, festering from the inside out by just being here. 

The Engine Room, his favorite place in the world. 

Akira follows his thread with tentative steps, despite the partition dividing him and the person on the other side of the wall.

He places a hand, bare and still ungloved, to the cold metal separating him and the boy on the other side.

“...goro?” 

There’s no response. Of course there isn’t. He’s already gone. 

Akira slams his head against the bulkhead door until he’s gone, too. 

* * *

When he wakes up, it’s silently this time. Morgana isn’t in his room. Akira tries to force the tears to stop falling. It doesn’t work. It never does. 

* * *

He doesn’t want to sleep anymore. Hours turn to days, days into weeks, weeks into centuries.  He hasn’t slept at all for what feels like eons, an eternity. The thread just won’t cut. 

He hears Goro, sometimes. The ghost of his laugh in the back of his mind, his sharp words echoing against the walls, his anguished final words to Akira. 

He still doesn’t sleep. He takes what he can to stay up, overdosing on coffee until he’s jittery and trembling and phasing in and out of reality and his heart feels like it’s going to stop completely. 

He collapses on his way home from school. Nobody bothers to call anyone. Akira has long since earned his reputation as the town’s resident self-destructive wreck. 

He dreams, again. 

* * *

Akechi is on the right side of the bulkhead this time. 

He’s bleeding, and the thread is tied around his limbs. He looks like a puppet with his strings cut. His body is limp. Akira notices how shallow his breaths are. He doesn't dare step any closer.

“...why are you..-" The confusion in Akechi’s voice is weak, but there. He cuts himself off when he coughs, and blood spills from his mouth.

Akira can’t move again. He can’t speak again. He can only stare at the wracked, bleeding frame of his former rival. 

"Akira… I—I don’t…” Akechi trails off. The maroon in his eyes is dull. 

Akira still cannot say a word. Akechi isn’t talking anymore, either.

Akechi’s eyes are closed, Akechi’s chest is still. 

The world goes red. 

* * *

It’s night when he wakes up. He’s still outside. His vision is blurry and his throat feels clogged.  He thinks that it might be nice to die here, alone, but his body doesn’t let him close his eyes. 

Akira shakes while he stands up, and drags his own lifeless corpse back home. His parents yell at him for being late when he walks through the door. Akira doesn’t think he could care less if he tried. 

Morgana visibly untenses in relief once Akira enters his bedroom. The colorless walls make it feel like a prison. 

“What’s going on with you?” Morgana asks, concerned. “Akira, I’m really worried about you..” 

“Don’t be. I’m fine. Goodnight.”

He doesn’t sleep.

* * *

It’s been days again. The world is different without sleep, he notices, different than the first time. Nothing feels real, he doesn’t even feel real. He’s never really awake, too, merely conscious, never really existing. 

He begins seeing things, too. He sees a murder of crows flocking by the roof of Yasogami. He sees flashes of dark blue and black and maroon red. He sees something,  _ someone _ moving in the corner of his vision whenever he’s alone. 

Even so, he never goes to sleep.  Morgana doesn’t make him sleep anymore. It’s not like it would’ve worked, anyway. Akira doesn’t care enough to listen.  It’s getting harder and harder to stay awake, though. Coffee doesn’t work anymore, and he can’t steal anything from his parents that keeps him awake enough. When he looks in the mirror, the pale face that stares back is hard to recognize.

Kurusu Akira has been awake for five days. On the sixth, he falls asleep and he doesn’t remember where. 

* * *

Akechi is strung up again. He truly does look like a puppet. Which, Akira guiltily supposes, he was. 

He’s breathing, at least. Akira can’t control his relief.  This time, Akira can move. He steps closer to Goro, slowly, like he’s scared. 

The question that he’s been wanting to ask for months finally leaves his lips, without Akira’s input. 

“Why didn’t you let me save you?”

“....I’m sorry,” Akechi murmurs, barely audible over the sound of Akira’s blood rushing in his ears. Akechi sounds weak, but he’s alive. That’s good. Or maybe it isn’t. Akira isn’t sure. “I’m not going to be a puppet, even to you.” He has to force the words out past his lips. 

“Why didn’t you let me save you…?” Akira repeats, quieter this time. 

But there’s already red wrapped around Akechi’s neck. “Akira,” he whispers like a prayer, and then he’s gone. 

Akira doesn’t even have to wait before the world falls away from him. 

* * *

When he wakes up, he knows he’s scared. He can feel his heart racing and pounding against his chest, he can feel his body tremble and shake and threaten to fall apart.  Yet he feels more like an outsider looking in than anything real. 

Akira wants to break the cycle. He hates this, the constant nightmares and fear and insomnia and grief and regret and emptiness that keeps poisoning him and corroding at his heart. He just wants it to end. He just wants it to stop. 

When his heartbeat slows and his mind comes back to him, he sees people looking down at him.  He’s in a classroom that he doesn’t remember visiting. His classmates all look concerned, and Akira can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him once he sees that. 

He feels his head hitting the floor. 

* * *

Akira offs himself before he can see anything.

* * *

He wakes up, but barely. Faces flash by him and he can’t recognize a single one. He’s so tired. He can’t even make out his surroundings anymore, and the haze in his mind grows and- 

* * *

This time, Akechi was already dead before Akira had even laid eyes on him. 

His skin was ashen, pale, cold. The noose around his neck was bright red. 

Akira sits and waits at Akechi’s feet, humming to himself while he waits for Akechi to wake up.

* * *

He wakes up whispering Akechi’s name. 

“Hey,” Morgana says softly. He sounds scared. Akira doesn’t know why. 

He sees a flash of red from his wrist again. 

“Where am I?” Akira’s voice comes out weaker than he expected it to. 

“You’re home, Akira.” 

_ No,  _ he thinks,  _ I’m not. _

Akira can’t sleep again. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Akechi. He sees him dead, he sees him bleeding, he sees him gone. 

He just wants it to stop.

Akira never gets anything he wants.

* * *

At least, Akechi is alive this time around. The bar for what Akira considers to be acceptable is on the floor by now, but anything is better than seeing Akechi die for what must be the thousandth time. 

“I’m sorry.” Akira feels the words leaving him before he can even think about it. 

“You should be,” Akechi scowls despite everything. He’s still a puppet, he’s still bleeding, but he looks better than before. “Akira-“ Akechi has never used his given name like this before. “I’m trying to find you.” 

Akira only shakes his head. “Stop doing this to me.” He doesn’t know if he’s talking to himself or Akechi, and he doesn’t know if that even makes a difference. “Please. I can’t take it.” 

“I’m not doing this to you,” Akechi seethed, weakly coughing and weakly struggling against his restraints. “You’re fucking— doing this to yourself.”

“I am?” Everything he’s feeling is washed away, leaving only confusion in his wake. 

“I’m trying to find you— idiot,” Akechi forces out through hisses of pain. “Why do you still feel so bad about me? Why are you such a fucking sentimental fool?” 

“Because you’re dead,” Akira states it like it's the most obvious fact in the world. “And it’s because of me. I should’ve taken that deal, I should’ve-“ 

“ _ Akira _ ,” He says through gritted teeth. “I’m still here. Find me.” 

Akechi survives this time. Akira does not. 

* * *

As soon as he wakes up, he walks over to his window and stares out of it blankly. His eyes are dull and glassy and tired, but something is changing. He doesn’t know what, but he knows it must mean something. 

_ Find me. Find Goro _ . 

He leaves for Tokyo in the morning. 

* * *

The train pulls into the station. He thinks he might drop dead, right there. He’s missed this.  There are bags under his eyes and his face is pallid and deathly pale and he prays nobody recognizes him besides the people who need to. 

As soon as he steps off the platform, he makes a call. 

Niijima Sae picks up immediately. 

* * *

They meet at a cafe in Shibuya- he can’t return to Leblanc yet. He orders a coffee, then another. 

“Thanks for meeting with me,” Akira murmurs, playing with his hair. “I need to ask you about something.” 

“Kurusu… are you sure you’re alright? You don’t look so good. If you need me to bring you to a hospital or something-“

“I’m fine.” He cuts her off before she can say anything more. The last thing he wants to be hearing right now is bullshit like that. 

“Suit yourself.” She stays composed and drops it, and for that Akira truly can't thank her enough. “Go ahead and ask.” 

“Akechi Goro.” Akira sees the woman’s lips being pressed into a thin line at the name. “I think he’s alive. Do you know anything about that?” 

Sae shook her head. “I don’t, unfortunately. He was reported missing a while ago, but nothing beyond that except for a brief rumor that he was living somewhere else. Such a rumor has never been confirmed, though.” She must’ve caught the way Akira’s expression died, because she tacked on a quick “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he murmurs underneath his breath. “Sorry to do this to you. Tell Makoto I say hi.” 

Akira sees a flash of the red thread from his wrist. 

He slides her enough yen to pay for both of their orders tenfold.

* * *

Akira leaves Tokyo as soon as he possibly can. He doesn’t dare go back to Inaba, though- instead he takes train after train to wherever he can go.  Each small town, each bustling city, filled to the brim with all sorts of people- and not a single whisper of the boy named Akechi Goro. 

It’s funny. Most people don’t even recognize the name anymore. 

“Have you seen a boy around here, brown hair and maroon eyes,” Akira always asks. “His name is Akechi Goro.”  He never gets the answer that he wants to hear. 

Insomnia takes a hold of him again. He barely sleeps anymore, too shaken-up to usually drift off when he travels.  Deja Vu poisons his mind. Every place he feels like he’s been there before. Life is as monotonous as it used to be. Akira’s world is gray. 

He’s traveled more in a few than most people have in their entire lives. Traveling to each new city and repeating the name  _ Akechi Goro _ over and over again until there’s nobody left to ask. It’s a miracle hasn’t just dropped dead from exhaustion yet, but he’s reluctantly thankful that he hasn’t. 

Another city, another round of questions without ever getting the answer he needs. 

A woman eyes him with concern. He doesn’t know her name, and she doesn’t know his. He does not ask, for he knows that he will never see her or this town ever again. “Hey, are you sure you’re alright, kid?” 

Akira wears the best smile he can muster. “Fine, thanks.” His hands are shaking in his pockets. “Have you seen a boy around here, brown hair and maroon eyes? His name is Akechi Goro.” 

The woman shoots him an incredulous look. “Isn’t that the name of that detective kid from a while ago? Wonder what happened to him.” 

_ Yeah, so do I. _

“But nope, haven’t heard anything about someone like that. Sorry.” 

Akira just shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.” 

He leaves before she can say another word. He thinks that he’ll miss her. 

* * *

He’s seeing Akechi again. It’s still the Engine Room, and Akechi is still dying, but he figures that it’s better than nothing. 

“I kept it, you know.” Akira’s voice abruptly cuts through the silence that stretched over both of them. “Your glove.” 

“...I see,” Akechi sounded as quiet as he normally does here. Akira has gotten used to it. He sees something akin to melancholy in Goro’s eyes.  “I truly do hope we have that rematch someday.” 

When he wakes up, the voice over the PA says the word ‘Tokyo’ and Akira is off the train before he knows it. 

* * *

All roads lead back to Tokyo. All roads lead back to the place he was forced to go back when everything seemed so wrong but so much more simple. Akira sees red cloud his vision for a moment as he steps off the platform.  He feels like a ghost again, like a corpse dragging itself around to a goal it won’t reach.  But he can’t deny how much he’s missed this place, despite his fairly recent visit. 

The city is breathing Akechi Goro’s name, even if nobody is saying it.  Akechi Goro has poisoned every bit of Tokyo for Kurusu Akira and he will never be able to cleanse it.  Akira thinks that maybe something like that isn’t so bad. Akechi almost breathes through him now. 

The urge to stop at Cafe Leblanc is strong, but he decides against it. That’s a can of worms for another day, another time, another life.  So he steps off at Kichijoji, where Akechi feels most alive within the strum of his heart and the thread around his wrist. 

“ _ I am the one who will defeat you _ .” Akira mindlessly repeats Goro’s words under his breath, a mantra, a motivation. “Oh, detective, it seems you already have.” 

Akira feels nauseous as he walks closer and closer towards the Jazz Jin. He wonders if Goro ever went here alone before February 2nd, or if he only went with Akira during all of that.  He gives a nod towards the club’s owner, a man who’s name he can no longer recall. The man understands and lets him inside.

Akira takes a seat, slips the glove over his hand, and lets the music play and drown out his thoughts.  He feels.. better. Lighter. Truly,  _ really  _ better. He doesn't know why, but he won't ruin himself trying to find out. He thanks Akechi, silently. This place was truly perfect for them both. 

For the first time in a while, Akira's smile is real.

Akira almost thinks he hears someone talking to the owner, someone laughing, someone approaching, and it all sounds far too real to just be him hearing that.  He squeezes his eyes shut, but hears it all the same. 

“Long time no see, hm? Mind if I take this seat?” 

Akira opens his eyes, glances up, and he  _ sees _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> GOD hello finally finished w/this one! it's still sunday where i am so its still day 7 hello this was p late...  
> this whole fic is meant to be pretty ambiguous and open-ended and there isnt rlly one correct way to interpret it.  
> anyways i had such a good time writing for shuake week even if i am a little burnt out from it lol, tysm to everyone who read my fics this week!
> 
> twt is @badappplle . warning for 18+ content though  
> 


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